


tomorrow, there'll be sun

by elinciacrimea



Series: a gentle sunlight [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Both Timelines, Brady and Owain as brothers, Canon Compliant But Gay, Character Study, Family, Gen, Siblings, future past references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinciacrimea/pseuds/elinciacrimea
Summary: The light can't come back if there's nobody left to let it in. We've all got our ways of doing it. You do it too, Brady, don't you?He might not look it, but Brady has always been a caretaker, in more ways than one.
Relationships: Background Lissa/Maribelle - Relationship, Brady & Eudes | Owain, Brady & Liz | Lissa, Brady & Maribelle (Fire Emblem)
Series: a gentle sunlight [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1491977
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	tomorrow, there'll be sun

The morning sunlight casts Ylisstol in a warm glow. Only the first stirrings of life have begun within the castle, but despite the early hour, a speech is being given.

"Today's a very important day for you," Chrom informs the toddler as they sit together on the nursery rag rug. "Today, your life will change."

Brady stares up at him, sucking his thumb.

"You might not realize it at first," Chrom continues, undeterred by the unresponsiveness of his charge. "But starting today, you're not just Brady anymore. You're a big brother. And that's very important. It means you've got more to look out for than just yourself."

Brady tilts his head slightly to the side.

"You'll see what I mean soon enough. After all, this is the most important responsibility you can have. Unless you have kids someday, I guess. But still - "

The nursery door creaks open. Maribelle raises an eyebrow. "What on earth are you telling him?"

"Important things!" Chrom looks down at Brady. "I'm not sure he's getting it, though. He won't answer me."

"He'll speak in his own time." Maribelle scoops Brady up onto her hip. "Won't you, dear? Besides, he understands everything said to him. You can see it in his eyes."

Brady doesn't answer, but rests his head on Maribelle's shoulder.

"Besides," Maribelle adds, "there's no need to overburden the poor boy. He's sensitive."

"I know." Chrom runs a hand through his hair. "But…"

"It will be fine," says Maribelle firmly, as if the mere possibility of things being otherwise has never even crossed her mind. Brady watches her with wide eyes. "No child of mine will ever want for anything. Regardless of...circumstances."

"Everyone's rested up, then?" Chrom asks her.

"Yes, and we're ready for this one." Maribelle bounces Brady gently. "Let's thank Uncle Chrom for looking after us and say goodbye, and then we can go visit Mother, all right?"

Brady sucks his thumb, but waves his free pudgy hand at Chrom.

"See?" Maribelle smiles with pride. "Every word."

"Guess you're right. Good luck." Chrom waves back as mother and child step out into the hall.

"Your uncle takes some things too seriously," says Maribelle to Brady as they walk through the quiet castle. "But perhaps he's right on this account. This is an important day, after all." She comes to a stop at her bedroom door. "Now, we'll be quiet while we're in here, okay? It's been a long night, and your mother's very tired."

Brady, who hasn't spoken a word in his life yet, much less a loud one, looks attentively at the door. Maribelle is satisfied, and pushes it open, letting it close softly behind her. The room is dim, but a single curtain has been drawn back, casting a ray of light onto the huge four-poster bed. A nightgown-clad figure is propped up on the pillows there, cradling a small bundle.

"Hey, Brady!" Lissa's voice is hushed, but she's smiling. "Come here. There's someone for you to meet."

Maribelle sets Brady down on the side of the bed. Brady shifts across it, thumb back in mouth, eyes wide.

"Come closer." Lissa holds out an arm, and Brady wiggles up against her. "That's it. Look, see? There's your baby brother."

Brady looks down at the red-faced infant, expression solemn.

"His name is Owain," Lissa says. "Bet you'll get into all sorts of trouble together."

Maribelle shudders as she takes a seat beside them. "Let's not make assumptions, darling."

"Yeah, well." Lissa beckons Maribelle closer, until all four are huddled together in the expanse of the bed. "They're my kids, after all. There'll be plenty of mischief, one way or another."

"I don't believe we should be encouraging that kind of thing," says Maribelle.

Lissa giggles. "Well, whatcha think, Brady? Cute, isn't he? Just like you."

Brady studies the baby, furrowing his small brow.

"You'll always have each other," says Lissa, her voice growing quiet. She glances over to the corner of the room, where a tall, golden headdress has been mounted on the wall. "No matter...no matter what."

"That's right," says Maribelle, putting an arm around her wife's shoulders as she strokes Brady's hair. "You'll always look after each other. Won't you?"

"Yes," Brady says softly.

Lissa and Maribelle both freeze. They glance at each other, then stare at him. It's Maribelle who speaks at last, her voice tremulous. "What was that, darling?"

"Yes, Ma," Brady repeats, voice still small.

Lissa and Maribelle exchange another look. Then Lissa's face breaks out in a grin. "That's right! Good job, Brady!"

"I told everyone," Maribelle says proudly. "You spoke when you were ready."

Brady has lost interest in any further speaking, though, playing with the edge of Owain's yellow baby blanket. The infant is still sleeping, ignoring the excitement, but Lissa's laughing again as she pulls all three of them into her arms.

Then Maribelle pauses. "Wait, _Ma?"_

\---

"Dark forces encroach on this peaceful dwelling! I, Owain the Glorious, shall vanquish them posthaste!"

"'Glorious?'" Brady snorts. "Sounds fluffy."

"Hush, naysayer!" Owain presses a single finger to his brother's lips as he peers around the corner. "The dark forces will hear!"

"I don't reckon Gerome can hear anything in that dumb hat - "

"Shh! Listen now, and heed its wicked footsteps!"

Indeed, a shambling sound grows louder, and a figure wearing a pointed hat and ragged dark cape is rapidly approaching Owain and Brady's hiding place. Brady rolls his eyes, but lets Owain drag him back into the shadows.

"A moment more," Owain hisses. "We must maintain the element of surprise…"

"Bet he can hear you shouting, though."

"Aha! My mortal foe arrives!" Owain leaps out, brandishing his stick (Uncle Chrom won't let them use the training swords for games.) "Foul evildoer! Be vanquished!" He runs headlong into the cloaked shape, sending both tumbling to the ground.

"Me too!" Cynthia squeals, leaping onto the pile from her perch on the windowsill. "Taste justice!"

"Y'all look stupid," Brady informs them. "Real heroes take out the bad guys with just one hit. They don't roll around like that."

"This is more fun, though," Cynthia says brightly as she throws more mud onto the ill-fated dark force. "Take that! And that, and that!"

"Taste my undying blade!" Owain cheers. "Radiant Blue FLAMES!"

"Plus, if you get mud on Gerome's ma's hat, she's probably gonna holler," Brady adds. "Don't say I didn't warn ya."

"A fair point! No dark force is as deadly as the wicked powers of Gerome's Ma." Owain sits back. "Very well! You are adequately vanquished, evildoer! Mind you don't do it again."

Gerome sits up, groaning as he pulls off the hat. Its crepe flowers are rather crumpled. "I hate being the bad guy."

"Severa's better at it," Cynthia comments as she helps him to his feet. "But she didn't want to play today."

"Fear not, Gerome! Your malevolence was perfectly adequate." Owain nods rapidly. "In fact, if you wish to be the villain next go, too - "

"No," Gerome scowls. "I want to be one of the heroes this time. It's my turn."

"He's right." Cynthia takes the hat and cape from Gerome and starts donning them. "Fear not! I, Cynthia, will step up to the plate and be a terrifying evildoer!"

"Then I'm gonna call it a day," says Brady.

"Aw, why?" Owain pouts. "It was just starting to get good!"

"When you and Cynthia are in the same place, it gets a little overwhelming," says Brady. "'Sides, I've got violin lessons to get to - "

"Don't worry, Brady!" Owain slings his arm over Brady's shoulders (even though he has to stand on tiptoe to reach.) "A dangerous foe Cynthia might be, but I'll protect you."

"Knock it off," Brady grumbles, shaking him free. "I don't need protectin' from you."

"But it's more fun with three heroes!" Owain's eyes seem to triple in size. "Please, Brady? Just one more round."

"...Fine," Brady relents. "But if I'm late to violin, then I'm tellin' Ma it was your fault."

\---

Ylisse Castle is filled with endless nooks and crannies, secret passageways and abandoned storage closets, unused bedrooms and little hideaways. Brady might have lived here since before he can even remember, but he'll never know the full run of the place. There's a few places he's expressly forbidden from entering - the dungeons, the barracks, and the old Exalt's chamber that Lissa and Chrom keep locked and sealed - but beyond that, he's allowed the run of the place, and along with the other kids, he's managed to find endless private clubhouses to take refuge in.

Today, he's tucked away in the quiet little sewing room on the third floor. Apparently it had belonged to some great-great aunt, who had a dressmaking hobby. It's kept in decent shape, and once in awhile Lissa or Maribelle or Frederick will use it if they have something fancy to sew. Chrom has been banned because he snaps needles in half and that sewing machine's fancy, but Ma's been teaching Brady the basics.

Brady likes it because there's bolts of fabric there that nobody's using, and it's the perfect place to build a little nest and curl up if one, for whatever reason, doesn't want to go back to one's bedroom that one shares with one's _nosy_ and _obnoxious_ little brother.

Just for example.

Brady sniffles, wiping his face with a sodden handkerchief as he curls up tighter in a blanket's worth of dusty old velvet. He can't believe he's still crying. Every time he starts to calm down, he thinks about _why_ he's crying, and then starts crying again. It's getting old.

Lissa always tells him to take deep breaths, to count backwards from ten, to try and think of funny things, but none of those tricks are working. Brady feels stupid, sulking and feeling sorry for himself like this, but the alternative is letting even more people see him cry, so he's hiding here, tucked between shelves and hoping nobody decides to embark on a sewing project today.

Just as he thinks that, the old oak door creaks open, and Brady can't tug the velvet over his face fast enough. 

"Ah ha! There you are!"

"Go away," Brady sniffles. "Can't ya tell when a guy wants to be alone?"

"I've been looking for you for like an hour!" Owain lets the door fall shut behind him with a bang. He sounds out of breath, and he's not talking like he's swallowed a book of fables, which is unusual. "Ran all over the place!"

"Why? 'M fine."

"No, you're not. You're crying."

"Am not," Brady lies, knowing his reddened face and snotty nose are dead giveaways. "Whaddaya want?"

"Just to make sure you're okay."

"I _said_ I'm fine."

Owain is quiet for a moment. Brady hopes he's mollified and will finally leave, but instead he walks over to the swiveling chair in front of the sewing machine and seats himself, spinning around slowly to face Brady.

"Ma says that chair's not a toy," Brady adds, hoping to discourage him.

"I'm not playing, though." Owain scoots closer to Brady. "You know, Inigo says he's sorry."

"So what?"

"I'm just saying. What he said was wrong, and you don't have to be upset about it."

"He wasn't wrong, though." Brady scowls at the wall. "I _am_ weak and a crybaby."

Owain pauses. Brady can tell he's wrestling between lying and saying Brady's wrong, or telling the truth and admitting Inigo was right.

"It ain't a problem," Brady adds, saving Owain his dilemma. "I bungled every sword lesson they tried to give me, remember? I get winded when I run a few feet, I get sick if someone sneezes, and I can't lift anything heavier than a sack of flour."

Owain raises an eyebrow.

Brady sighs. "Okay, I can't lift a sack of flour, either."

"So all of those things are true," Owain says. "That doesn't mean people should get to be mean about it."

"I'm used to it," Brady says. "It ain't a big deal. Oh, and don't tell Ma. I don't want her to explode, 'cause then Olivia will drag Inigo over and make him apologize. And that's just embarrassin' for everyone."

"If it's not a big deal, then why are you in here crying?"

"It's the dust."

"Yeah, right."

"Fine," Brady sighs. "If ya want the truth, it's 'cause you stood up for me."

Owain blinks at him, almost comically. "What? So it's _my_ fault?"

"No! Maybe? Kinda." Brady fiddles with the fraying edge of the velvet. "I just...I'm supposed to be the big brother. It's embarrassing that you came over and defended me and junk. Isn't the big brother supposed to do that?"

"You're not even two years older!" Owain pouts. "Seriously, that's it? That's dumb."

"Is not."

"Is too!"

They glare at each other.

"You outdo me in everything," Brady finally says. "In fighting, in being stronger, you've got more friends - and you're the littler one. I'm supposed to take care of ya, and I can't even do that."

"That just isn't true!" Owain shakes his head. "You're the one always patching me up when I get myself hurt, so Ma and Mom don't find out. And you're better at chess and crochet and the violin - I didn't even make it through one of those lessons. They're boring. But you're really good at them!"

"Well…" Brady ponders. "I guess I am better at some things…"

"I would get into far more trouble without your guiding hand! And I daresay you wouldn't get into enough trouble without my dauntless courage!"

Brady cringes at the return of Owain's usual flowery speech. "Okay, you're takin' it a bit far - "

"Yes! We are like the Bull and Panther of legend - compensating each other's weaknesses with our strengths! An inseparable duo!"

"Didn't they separate, though?"

"Hush!" Owain leaps up from his chair and poses triumphantly. "An unstoppable pair, brains and brawn, magic and might! Healing and heroism! Violin-ing and violence! Scowling and - "

"Okay! Okay, jeez. I get it."

Owain preens. "You're smiling."

"Maybe. It's gas."

"Har har." Owain holds out a hand. "Come on, grumpy. Let's quit hiding in here."

"...Sure," Brady concedes, and takes the offered hand. "It's dusty, anyway. An' I've got staff practice to get to."

"I knew you'd agree!" Owain tugs him towards the door. "You know, we are just like the fabled siblings of legend, Luthier and Delthea - "

"Does that mean I'm Luthier?" Brady scowls. "He's borin'."

"He was known for being straitlaced and harboring a deep love of cats, so I think it's an excellent fit!" Owain beams. "And Delthea was an incredible prodigy, just like me!"

"You're a prodigy?" Brady snorts. "Prodigy of what? Prattlin' on?"

"Of - of many things! For example - " 

They head off down the castle hall, their bickering echoing off the stones.

\---

The soft knock at his bedroom door wakes Brady up.

"I'm up!" Owain shouts at once. His eyes are still half-closed, but he sits bolt upright. "I'm getting dressed!"

"No, you ain't," Brady grumbles, rolling over to look at the clock on the wall between them. The sky outside is still dark. "It's barely mornin'."

"It's Mother. We're...I'm back from the front." Ma's voice is shaking. Which is weird - nothing about Ma ever shakes. "You don't need to get up yet, but...there's...something we need to talk about. May I come in?"

Brady sits up, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Maribelle steps into the room. She's still wearing her armor, and is worrying her gloves in her hands, picking at the silk. Her hair is disheveled.

"Good to see ya," Brady says as Maribelle sits down on the foot of his bed. "Made it back all right, then?"

Maribelle doesn't answer, for some reason. She looks pale. "Owain, darling. Come over here, please."

"I'm comfy," Owain grumbles, but then he looks at Maribelle's face again and climbs out of bed, crossing the room to sit down next to her. "What is it?"

"I…" Maribelle takes a deep breath, briefly closing her eyes. "I am...not certain how to tell you this, but…"

There's a wooden shelf mounted on the bedroom wall, holding a row of old toys Brady and Owain don't really touch anymore. At the end of the shelf is a stuffed pink bear with a raggedy paw Owain used to suck on. Brady's looking at the bear as Maribelle speaks the next words, and because of that, he'll never forget what it looks like.

"Your Uncle Chrom...died during the battle."

One of the bear's button eyes is hanging a little lower than the other.

"What?" Owain's voice is so tiny Brady can barely hear it.

"He…" Maribelle catches her breath. "He was killed. He's not coming home."

"No!" Owain's voice sounds far away, like there's a castle between them and not just a yard of space. "Nobody could kill Uncle Chrom! He's too tough. You're lying, right? Telling a story?"

"Owain…"

Owain sniffles. "You're _lying…_ "

There's a rustle as Maribelle puts an arm around Owain's shoulders. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I wish I was."

"Not fair…" Owain mumbles. "It can't have been fair...he _can't_ be dead…"

Brady stares at the bear. It's sloping slightly sideways. If someone hit the wall, it might fall off the shelf altogether and tumble to the floor.

"Brady?" A soft hand brushes his cheek. "Darling, did you hear me?"

Brady nods, swallowing hard.

"I know you were both close with him," says Maribelle. "He loved you very much. I'm sure of it."

Brady nods again.

"Where's Mom?" Owain whimpers into Maribelle's shoulder.

"She's with Lucina right now," Maribelle says softly. "Brady, sweetheart, will you look at me?"

It's strange, Brady thinks, that he can't cry. That for once, Owain's the one crying, and Brady's just sitting there, staring. But he can't seem to do anything else. There's no tears, just a hollow, dull ache in the pit of his stomach, festering and growing.

He'll cry later. Later, when he drops his porridge dish and it shatters, he'll crumple to his knees and sob, and even as his mothers reassure him he'll know it's not really the dish he's mourning. Later, when he sees Lucina gripping Falchion in hands too small for the hilt. Later, when Mom smiles through the entire funeral but he hears her crying in her bedroom afterwards. He'll cry many, many times.

But he doesn't cry in that moment. 

Tears or not, that moment, looking at the old bear, was the end of childhood, really. Sure, Brady was still _technically_ a child, but after that day, it was all over.

\---

After Chrom dies, they all become soldiers.

There isn't a choice. The loss of that battle, and with it Chrom's death and Robin's disappearance, leads to a huge surge of power for the Grimleal. Risen flood the continent, overwhelming waves that can only be dammed, never quelled entirely. Ylisse is crushed in their wake, changed and broken by the endless horde. And people die, dozens becoming hundreds and then thousands, a new letter, a new loss almost every day.

The outer settlements of Ylisse are the first to fall. Themis crumbles, and although Maribelle never quite tells them that Grandpa is dead, Brady knows he is anyway. Lissa, as the Exalt Regent until Lucina comes of age, tries to muster their dwindling army around what remains of Ylissean territory, but that border is pressed continually inwards. There is no word from Valm, and they eventually lose communication with Ferox. 

Brady's friends change, too. Severa's scowls grow deeper, Gerome stops laughing, Noire cowers and cries at raised voices, Cynthia cuts off her curls, Inigo only dances alone. Owain's games of heroes are over. Now, there's only training, practicing under Frederick's watchful eye (until he dies in an onslaught, and then there's nobody to direct them but themselves.) Owain is determined to join the front lines as a soldier, training diligently with the rest in the courtyard. Brady tries to join in sometimes, but he usually just ends up hurting himself, which isn't helpful to anyone at all.

Eventually, even the sun stops shining, only the dimmest rays breaking through the thick layers of dark clouds that seem to permanently choke the sky. And that's the world Brady grows up in, a world where he trains to become a battlefield medic instead of continuing his lessons in violin and chess. There isn't time for that. This is war.

This has always been war. Brady was born after it started, and he's starting to suspect he'll never see its end. Peace has always been something he's heard of, but never felt.

Maybe it was never real at all. Even the sun is becoming little more than a memory.

Brady is too young to be a real healer, but there quickly becomes no other choice. He witnesses his first death in person before his twelfth birthday, and it's far, far from the last patient he loses. Sometimes all he can do is try and ease a little pain, to make them comfortable as they go. Sometimes he can't do even that. 

And he knows it's killing Ma and Mom, sees their expressions when they watch him washing blood out from under his nails and rolling up his sleeves to treat an infected leg, but there's nothing to be done about it. If Brady doesn't help, even more people will die. He'd never forgive himself for that.

There's one thing left of his childhood, though. One strange, weak link.

"Come sit, Brady." Maribelle waves a hand at him. "We've been waiting."

"Sorry." Brady tugs out his chair at the table. "Ran late."

"Don't worry about it, bud." Lissa's voice is cheerful as she pats his hand. "I'm late half the time anyway."

"Late to the sacred hour of teatime?" Owain rests a hand on his chest in mock indignation. "Why, Mother! Such a crime!"

Maribelle shakes her head, but there's a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips. She pours the tea with as careful a hand as ever, distributing it equally into five cups. "Lucina, darling, pass around the bread."

It's not the same as Ma's afternoon tea in Brady's youth. Between rations and simple necessity, sweets and drinks are a foreign luxury, with Maribelle managing to scrape the occasional biscuit for birthdays, nothing more. But Maribelle, despite her upbringing, is resourceful, including a frugal streak when the situation calls for it. The tea leaves are of such a weak quality that even Lissa might have reconsidered using them ten years ago, but now there isn't a whisper of complaint as Maribelle passes around the cups. No cream, no sugar, no jam or butter, no cakes and pastries are arranged today. There's just a small plate of hard rolls made with barely more than flour, but they are still served in Maribelle's fine, pink-flowered china, at the tea table in the castle sitting room.

Most of Maribelle's beloved tea parties, shared with closest friends and loved ones, have been discontinued out of necessity. But family tea is sacred, and it's one thing Brady knows Ma will never budge on, even if one day they're just slurping rainwater out of the gutter.

Okay, maybe she wouldn't take it _that_ far. But still.

Brady sips the tea. The leaves have been used and reused until the cup holds little more than hot water, but he swallows it anyway. "Nice brew, Ma."

"Hmm…" Maribelle is critically eyeing her own cup, but she doesn't say anything about the pale color of the drink. "How is everyone doing?"

"Well enough," says Lucina. Her eyes keep darting to the window, like they always do if she's spending a moment away from training or studying, but she still sits straight and polite, hands folded in her lap. "Thank you."

"The fog has been detracting from my all-important training," Owain declares as he crunches a roll. "A tragedy. Did the _radiant hero_ have to deal with _weather patterns?_ No! I think not."

"Don't speak with your mouth full," Maribelle answers him. "And for goodness's sake, smaller bites." Owain shrugs, still chewing.

"Bet the weather'll clear up soon, though," Lissa says brightly. She's lying, Brady knows she is, they all know she is, but they all nod as if she's said something insightful. "Then it'll be nicer out."

"How has your violin practice been going?" Maribelle asks, turning to Brady.

"Haven't had a ton of time," Brady says truthfully. "Startin' to sound like a dyin' cat."

"Don't be ridiculous," Maribelle sniffs. "Your playing is lovely, so long as you apply yourself."

"Well, I must return to my training." Lucina gets to her feet, folding her napkin neatly across her plate. "Thank you for the tea, Aunt Maribelle."

"It was nothing, darling. Do tell me if you need anything."

"The hero departs as well, then!" Owain bounces upright with somewhat less grace. "Ma, Mother, Brother - I will espy you later in the day! And I am off! To further legendary exploits!" He darts from the room after Lucina.

Maribelle sighs as she starts stacking up the plates. "That boy."

"He's just trying to cheer everyone up," says Lissa.

"Like you two do," Brady adds. Lissa and Maribelle both freeze. "What? We all know the sun's not gonna - "

"We cannot predict the the future," says Maribelle lowly. "But that does not mean we must surrender to it. Nor that we must lose hope in a brighter tomorrow."

"Sounds kinda corny."

"Yeah, it's corny." Lissa rests a hand on Brady's shoulder. "But it's true. The light can't come back if there's nobody left to let it in. We've all got our ways of doing it. You do it too, Brady, don't you?"

Brady scowls. "Maybe."

"One of us!" Lissa cheers, laughing softly. "That's my boy."

"Mom…"

"Don't ever stop being yourself, okay?" Lissa's eyes are soft as she brushes Brady's hair back off his forehead. "Keep being that little ray of sunshine."

"Enough cheese. You're gonna make me lactose intolerant."

Maribelle rolls her eyes. "Goodness, teenagers are exhausting. Can't we even give a pep talk?"

"It doen't matter anyway." Brady shrugs. "With you and Mom around, I don't need to be an optimist. You two've got it covered."

"We might not be here forever," Maribelle says softly. "I just want to ensure that - that you and Owain will be safe without us around. That you'll never lose hope."

"Quit talkin' like that." Brady hopes his indignation hides the tremble in his voice. "It's silly."

"I don't mean to frighten you." Maribelle fiddles with her teacup. "So long as we can, we'll protect the two of you. I merely...I am comforted by the thought that even without us, you and your brother will be able to depend on one another."

Brady snorts. "Owain, dependable? Perish the thought."

"Brady, for goodness's sake…"

"Same goes for me. I can't even wield a weapon. What help would I be, protectin' him?"

"There are many different ways to protect someone." Maribelle's hands tighten on her cup. "And you know I don't like hearing you put yourself down like that. I am proud of you, and of Owain. The different paths the two of you have chosen in life don't affect that."

Quiet falls in the sitting room.

"Sorry, Ma," Brady mumbles at last. "I wasn't thinkin'."

Maribelle waves a hand. "It's fine. I just wanted to make myself clear."

"I'll keep him out of trouble," Brady adds. "But - it's not gonna come to that. Right?"

Lissa leans in and kisses his forehead. "Don't worry, honey. We'll make it through this. All of us, together."

Again, Brady knows she's lying. But he lets himself believe her, anyway.

\---

The day Ma dies, the sky is gray, but it doesn't rain. There's just the endless fog, thick and choking overhead, drowning out the light.

Brady would be lying if a part of him hadn't expected it. After all, everyone he knew had lost at least one parent to the Risen and the war. And Brady's seen enough to be pretty damn cynical. But Ma was always so impossibly stubborn. Brady had sometimes pictured her crushing the Fell Dragon himself under one pink kitten heel and then serving tea on his corpse.

That wasn't reality, though. Reality was harsh and bright red, like the blood staining the white silk of Maribelle's blouse as Owain burst into the healing tent with her pale form cradled in his arms. Brady had only needed one look at her face to know she was dead, but he'd checked anyway, searching for some faint flutter of a pulse as Owain sobbed and begged him to save her, to stop it, _you're a healer Brady why can't you fix her -_

Lissa had come into the tent a moment later, and her expression had been horrible - Brady still sees it when he closes his eyes. She hadn't cried, though, not then or since. Not in front of them, anyway. Which somehow made Brady feel even worse.

Like the countless others they'd lost, there wasn't time or space or resources to make Maribelle a proper grave, just another hasty burial with a wooden marker in the rows that filled up the castle graveyard. Ma deserved better. They all deserved better.

But this is war. There's nothing left but war.

Owain has barely been seen since Maribelle's tiny funeral. Lissa's concerned about him, and that's what sends Brady searching, wandering through the castle he was raised in and now barely recognizes. It's more of a fortress now, filled with bunks and supplies for the hundreds of refugees taking shelter in its walls. Ylisse has shrunk until there's little left outside the capital city, the rest of the continent fallen to roving hordes of Risen and Grimleal.

Owain doesn't usually hide, but when they played hide-and-seek as kids he always gravitated towards a few spots. Brady's hardly surprised to find him huddled in the small larder off the kitchen, the one the cooks had never really used in favor of the newer, nicer one. Even now, there's only a few sad-looking sacks of flour left haphazardly on the creaking shelves. And Owain, sitting on a salt-pork barrel with his knees drawn up to his chest, starting at the sight of Brady pushing open the door.

"There ya are," Brady says, coughing as he waves dust away from his face. "Geez, it's a pigsty in here. Mom was wonderin' where you were."

"Just wanted time alone," Owain mumbles.

Brady folds his arms, leaning against the door frame. "Since when do you want 'time alone?' You always want people to pay attention to ya."

Owain shrugs.

"Eaten lately?"

"Little bit," Owain mumbles.

"Well, ya better. Mom's worried."

"Tell her I'm sorry, then."

"You should come on out," Brady says, trying to sound coaxing. "At least spend some time with everyone. 'S not just Mom. Noire and Cynthia miss ya."

Owain doesn't answer for several moments. When he finally speaks, it's mumbled so quietly Brady can't hear.

"What was that?" Brady leans down. "Speak up."

"You should hate me."

"For what?"

"You know for what." Owain's staring into space, looking at something neither of them can see. "For - for Ma."

"Why should I hate you over that?"

"You know why." Owain glares at him. "She died for me. Because I was being an idiot, not watching my back. I should've been the one who died - "

Brady's fist slams into the wall beside him. "Shut _up!"_

Owain recoils at the outburst, eyes flying open.

"You're bein' an idiot _now_ , ya know that? Worrying everyone, worrying Mom - worrying me! That's no help to anyone. So what if it was yer fault? You're still here, ain't ya? And she's not, so ya gotta - ya gotta step up!"

Owain watches him with wide eyes, leaning back on his barrel from the force of Brady's rage.

"You know what Ma says - said about slackers and layabouts, right?" Brady points an accusing finger. "Ya think she'd be sulking back in here? 'Course not! She'd be out there, workin' her butt off, tryin' to make the world a little better! Like she always did. And - and besides - " Brady almost chokes on the swell of tears in his throat, "we miss ya. And we want ya with us! Not hiding in some dumb pantry and cryin' about how we'd be better off without ya!"

"Brady - "

"You're a part of our family, too. An' I don't wanna lose ya!" Brady sniffs, dragging his sleeve over his eyes, but his glare doesn't falter. "So - so don't ever say something that stupid again, understand? Else I'll knock the stuffin' outta ya!" 

Quiet settles in the larder. Brady can hear the squeaking of disturbed mice.

"Okay." Owain gets to his feet. "Okay. I'm - I'm sorry."

"Good. Ya better be."

"You hurt your hand hitting the wall, didn't you?"

Brady doesn't meet his eyes.

Owain sighs. "You did. Let's go get Mom."

\---

Even after Maribelle died, Brady never really believed they would lose Lissa too. They couldn't. She was so constant. She was the leader of the Shepherds, their heart, the one who kept them going - 

And she stayed for longer than anyone else. But now it's all really over.

Owain told him later that to the last, she'd tried to help. She'd been in the healing tent, and Grima's power had surged through the earth, and the dead had started turning to Risen all around her. Owain had arrived just in time to see her fall.

Owain watched both their mothers die, and Brady never said goodbye to either of them. Brady wonders which is worse. Both equally terrible, probably. Owain hangs Lissa's wedding ring around his neck, and Brady wears Maribelle's, feeble mementos that don't in any way ease the loss.

One way or another, Lissa was the last of Chrom's Shepherds. Now, it really is all up to them. None of them have even come of age yet, but they're the only chance humanity has. So there isn't time to grieve or mourn. Not when Ylisstol is the last remaining stronghold in the world, and Lucina is the commander now, and she needs all the help she can get.

There isn't even time for a real funeral. There hasn't been in a long time. They bury her beside her wife, with only a simple wooden marker, and promise they'll do more later. When there's peace.

Can they even keep that promise? Brady isn't sure. The days become weeks, and all he's capable of doing is putting one foot in front of the other, dragging himself through the days. He's one of hardly any remaining trained healers in the army, and he can't let himself slow or falter. Moments of hesitation make the difference between life and death at the end of a staff.

Despite the grief, Owain manages to keep up his playacting, cracking jokes and striking poses even though he looks horribly pale. That's his job, just like Brady's is to snark and roll his eyes and hurt himself doing daily tasks and let the others laugh at him. Just as Maribelle held her tea parties with little more than boiled water, just as Lissa smiled through her brother's funeral. Bring hope. Cling to it. 

Brady isn't sure of much anymore, but he knows that's what his mothers would have wanted. Every time he manages to save a patient, he finds himself thinking of them. _See that, Ma, Mom? I can do all right without ya._

"I didn't think this was what heroism was," Owain says one day.

Brady looks askance at him. They're on watch duty together, up in the castle battlements, surveying the horizon for Risen squadrons. "Whatcha mean?"

Owain waves a tired arm. "This. All of it. Is this real heroism?"

"Ya mean, without the battle cries and poses?"

"No," says Owain. "I know those are just...you know, a side benefit. I'm talking about...triumphant victories snatched from the jaws of defeat. Dawn coming after darkness. You know. I keep expecting to _win._ We're supposed to win, even if it's tough. We're the _heroes._ But...we've given everything we have, and we're still losing. I thought being a hero was more...rewarding."

"Maybe it was like that, once," says Brady. "When our moms were kids. Not anymore."

Owain squints up at the gray sky. Brady doesn't remember the last sunny day. "I guess."

There's a sudden banging sound behind them, and Brady and Owain both start. Owain draws his sword, dashing in front of Brady as the latter grips his staff in both hands - 

"Sorry." Lucina's head emerges from the trap door. "That was...louder than I thought it would be."

"Oh, Lucy." Brady relaxes, and Owain lowers his sword. "What is it?"

Lucina sits down on a crate. "Are you two...okay?"

"No," says Brady, knowing lying to Lucina is pointless. "But none of us are. Why're you here?"

"I was in...the study," Lucina says. There are gray shadows under her eyes, her hair is tousled, her shoulders are slumped. Like the burdens Lissa had been holding off her back have finally crashed down onto her. "Since - since we lost her, I've been going through...everything. And I found something. In - in her desk." 

Silence hangs between the three of them. Something is broken there, and Brady doesn't think any staff can fix it.

"What kinda somethin'?" Brady asks at last.

"Aunt Lissa had a plan," says Lucina quietly. "To defeat Grima. And she had almost completed it, but - " Lucina takes a shuddering breath. "I'll finish it. I swear, I will. But there was something else. Aunt Lissa - that is, your mother..." Lucina breaks off, and holds out a small stack of envelopes. There's another stab through Brady's heart as he looks down at Mom's untidy scrawl. "Here. They're for...the three of us. She wrote them."

Brady takes the envelope marked with his name. "'Course she did."

Lucina nods, eyes dull. "I haven't read mine yet, I thought - I thought I'd bring you yours first. I suspect they were written after Aunt Maribelle died, based on where they were in her files. She must have known I would find them."

Owain is staring at his own envelope.

Lucina looks up at the empty sky. "Do you think...do you think in the end, this will all be worth it?"

Brady glances at Owain. "I don't know. I hope so. Mom sure thought so."

"Did she? Or…?" Owain clutches the remaining envelope against his chest. "Was she just trying to...comfort us?"

The endless gray night spirals overhead.

Lucina gets to her feet. "I'm going to finish what Lissa started. I'll...I'll tell everyone the plan...when the time is right. But to protect us all…"

"Ya can't risk sharing until you're sure," says Brady. "I get it."

Lucina nods. "Thank you, both of you. For remaining at my side. I - I can't be half the Exalt our parents would have been, but - "

"Don't say junk like that," says Brady. "Once this is all over, we'll throw you the coronation to end all coronations. I'll even break out my old violin. It'll be a bash."

Lucina's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's there nonetheless. "I look forward to it."

 _Keep smiling,_ Brady reminds himself as he holds his mother's dying words between his fingers. He hasn't read them yet, but he thinks he knows how they end. _For them._

\---

"I think we've lost the Risen," Inigo pants, glancing back over his shoulder. as they sprint through the thundering rain. "For now, anyway. Once we cross the bridge, it shouldn't be much longer to Ylisse…"

"Maybe we can actually do this?" Yarne's voice is trembling. "Like, save the world?"

"Sure we can." Brady tries to ignore the stitch growing in his side. "Right?"

Owain has one hand resting over the pouch on his belt. "We've got the gemstones, and Ylisse is close! I consider that cause for celebration."

"Just across that bridge," Inigo calls. "But don't slow down - they could catch up any minute."

The aforementioned bridge is a creaky, weak thing, half-ripped down, little more than a few planks scattered between age-moldened string. But Brady doesn't hesitate to step on it, Yarne at his side as he dashes towards the far side of the cliffs. There isn't time to be scared, even though Yarne is whimpering next to him and the river is roaring below.

It's a relief to feel grass under his boots again, though, and Brady nearly collapses as he comes to a stumbling stop. Next to him, Yarne doubles over, coughing.

"That's that," Brady wheezes as Inigo nearly crashes into him from behind. "Are y'all - "

The sound of the bridge breaking, that fraying rope giving up its weak grasp on life, shouldn't have been audible from where Brady was standing. But he heard it anyway, and turned back, and he saw his little brother plummet, and then, burning lungs or not, he can't breathe at all.

It's only Inigo that stops it, turning back and half-flinging himself off the chasm, grabbing Owain's arm and nearly pitching over himself. Yarne is already running, Brady on his heels despite being out of breath, and they grab Inigo by the torso, tugging both men back up and over the ledge, all four of them falling in a heap into the wet grass.

"That was close," Inigo gasps out, rubbing his face. "You alright, Owain?"

"Extinction," Yarne mumbles into the grass. "It flashed before my eyes…"

Owain doesn't answer, pulling himself up into a sitting position. His arm is held at a terrible angle. Brady flings his arms around him, hugging his brother for the first time in years, burying his face in his shoulder. They're both shaking, Owain's breath coming in short gasps.

"Ya scared the hell out of me." Brady pulls back. "Aw, gods, your shoulder - Owain?"

"The gemstone…" Owain's face is white, and he doesn't seem to have noticed the injury. He looks absolutely frozen, an expression Brady hasn't seen on him since Mom died. "It…"

Inigo blanches too. "It fell?"

"Shattered." Owain's lips barely move. "I - I saw it hit the rocks at the bottom. It's nothing but dust."

None of them can think of anything to say to that.

"Then we failed," Inigo says finally. "Lucina put her trust in us, and we - "

Brady expects Yarne to say something about going extinct. But he looks too scared for even that.

"This was Mother's plan," Owain manages, leaning forward and burying his face in his good hand. "She had all those maps, all this intel, she pinned all her hopes on it, she died knowing we would do it, and we - and I - "

"Stop it," says Brady roughly. "What did I say about blamin' yourself?"

Owain doesn't answer, still hunched in the grass. Inigo looks despairing. Yarne wipes his eyes.

"Quit lookin' so sour, all of ya," says Brady. "Ya got the other stone, right, Inigo?"

Inigo's hand flies to his breast pocket. "Yes."

"Then we're gonna head back to Ylisstol," says Brady, heart pounding in his throat. "And - and we'll tell Lucina."

"What's the point?" Owain is staring into the chasm. "Without that gemstone, it's all over. You shouldn't have saved me, Inigo."

"Shut up!" Brady snaps, fear and fury welling up in his chest. "You mean to tell me after everything we've done, you're just gonna give up? You think that's what we want? You think that's what Ma and Mom would want? What they would do?"

"But - "

Tears sting at Brady's eyes. "You think that's what a _hero_ would do?"

Silence falls in the chasm, the only sound Yarne's sniffling.

"We're goin' home," Brady declares at last, dragging his sleeve over his eyes. "We're not gonna give up here. We're gonna go home to Ylisstol. Now get your sorry butts up, and let's get moving."

"...Right." Inigo staggers to his feet and holds out a hand to Brady. "You're right. Our parents never gave up, and neither should we. Come on, everyone."

Brady takes the offered hand and lets Inigo tug him to his feet, Yarne following in his wake. Owain is still sitting in the grass, staring at his hands.

"...Owain?" Brady asks, hating the quaver in his voice. "Please, let's - let's go home."

"...Okay." Owain sniffs, and Brady pretends not to notice the tear tracks on his face. "For you."

"Up ya get, then." Brady grabs his good arm and tugs him upright. "My staff broke awhile back, but once we get somewhere a little safer, I'll fix yer shoulder up."

Owain nods. His legs don't seem to be working, and he leans heavily on Brady as they shuffle back through the rain. "Brady?"

"Yeah?"

"You sound like Ma." Owain rests his head on Brady's shoulder. "Although a little less...eloquent. Just now, and...back there too."

Brady snorts. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is."

\---

"Brady."

"Yeah?" Brady stands up from tying together the meager bundle of his possessions. Ylisse Castle falling hadn't left them with much. "Whatcha want?"

"I just wanted to say…" Owain rubs the back of his neck. His tone is grave. "If only one of us, you know...makes it. To the future."

"Don't be a dolt," Brady snorts. "We're all gonna make it just fine. It's Naga who's sending us, after all."

"She said it was riskier the more of us she sent," Owain says. "So if I end up getting there a hundred years too early, or too late, or I can't find you all, or I end up in the middle of the ocean or something - I want you to promise that you'll take care of our moms. And everyone else."

"I don't gotta promise something like that," says Brady. "For one, I'd do it anyway. For another, I don't think Ma'd _let_ me 'take care of' her. 'Member that time she was sick on my birthday and still tried to throw a damn party?"

Owain winces. "Yeah, you might be right."

"And _third_ , we're both gonna find them, so it doesn't matter anyway." Brady slings his pack over his shoulder. "Got it?"

"You're so stubborn," Owain groans.

"Learned from the best. 'Sides, legendary heroes don't get stuck in time portals. They show up where they're supposed to. Got it?"

"You sound like Ma when she tried to make me eat my vegetables. Didn't work then, won't work now."

Brady shrugs. "How's this for a promise? If ya die, I'll go to your grave and chew ya out. If ya don't, then I won't. Sounds fair to me."

"Guess that's the most I can hope for." Owain grins, striking a pose. "Then, if we're both going to make it to the past, I suppose you'd best be ready to be wowed by my incredible brilliance yet again! For I, Owain Dark, will - "

"Alright, alright, put a damn sock in it." Brady bumps his fist against Owain's shoulder. "You won't be hard to find, anyway. Bet I'll hear you shouting from miles around."

"A fair point!" Owain beams. "I am exemplary at shouting, it is true!"

"Is everyone prepared?" Lucina calls. "It's time to move."

Owain salutes to Brady. "See you in the past, big bro."

\---

The little Valmese village by the Mila Shrine, all things considered, isn't the worst place Brady could have ended up. Considering all the increasingly wild ideas Yarne had been coming up with - landing in the middle of a fevered battle, at the bottom of the sea, in the heart of a volcano - Valm isn't half bad, even if it's is pretty far from where Brady had been hoping to be. The people are nice here, confused as they were by Brady wandering into their town square and asking what year it was. They give him a place to stay and food as long as he heals their sick and injured, which is a pretty comfortable deal.

None of the villagers had understood why, for the first week of Brady's presence among them, he'd burst into tears whenever he'd looked up at the sunlit sky.

Brady's trying not to seem too suspicious (which, he has to admit, doesn't come naturally) but he's been putting out feelers during his months here. It sounds like they're in the heat of the Valmese-Ylissean war, and Chrom's Shepherds - _Chrom's_ Shepherds, not Lissa's, not Lucina's, and Brady almost cries at the thought - have been leading the charge against Walhart. Brady doesn't know as much about history as Lucina or Laurent, so he's not sure how close the war is to ending, but he figures he's pretty damn lucky. If the Shepherds are on this continent, all the better to try and find them.

Of course, it's not that easy, and Brady has no idea where to look. _Fate will guide them together,_ Naga had said, and Brady figures that means he'd better be patient. It's not like he can fight, anyway. Wandering Valm alone would end with him as worm food. At least here in the village, he can do some good.

And then bandits come, and murder the village elder right in front of him. And Brady remembers that even this place, where the sun is high in the sky and the Risen a distant threat, isn't at peace. And he's _still_ too weak to help.

The villagers gather their shoddy militia to defend the ancient ruins of the Mila Shrine, and Brady hangs back on the rear lines to heal, concealed in the inner blue-glass halls. The surge of bandits overwhelms the civilian army easily, and the battle quickly devolves into a mess of chaos while Brady huddles in the shrine, trying to heal what he can. What a _stupid_ place to die, but at least he can say he died trying his best.

As Brady thinks that, there's a crashing sound, and an unfamiliar man comes running towards him, sword drawn. "You there!"

"Ha!" Brady hopes his voice isn't shaking, and also hopes the other villagers will have the good sense to run. "Sure, come kill me now! Do your worst, 'cause I can't fight back anyway!"

"Woah, hold up." The man comes to a stop. "You're not with the bandits, are you?"

"'Course not! I was raised better than that." Brady scoffs. "Either way, I can't sling magic like my Ma. So you might as well just make it quick, eh, chump?"

"Your mother's a mage?" The man looks around with interest, as if Ma's going to melt out of the shrine wall. Weird bandit.

"None of your damn business, dog!" Brady snaps.

The swordsman crosses his arms. For some reason, he looks slightly amused. "Do you always speak this way to Ylissean royalty?"

"Rude!" Brady snaps. "I might be ugly-lookin', but I _am_ Ylissean royalty!"

The man freezes. "...What?"

"I'll have ya know, my mom's a princess, and - wait." Brady blinks as the man's words process. "Huh?"

"My name is Prince Chrom, of Ylisse," the man says slowly. "And I'm starting to think that you're - "

"Uncle - _Uncle Chrom?"_

"Oh dear," the man mutters. And, duh, now that Brady's looking, it seems pretty obvious. He's wearing too much armor for Brady to see his shoulder, and he looks really young, and it's been a long time, but…

"Uncle Chrom?" Brady repeats, voice trembling. "Really?"

"Uncle, huh." Chrom rubs the back of his head. "Gods. Guess I should've figured, they've been popping up like weeds lately - "

"You were dead." Brady manages.

"So I heard."

"And now you're here - "

"Are you crying?"

"I got allergies!" Brady sniffs. "I mean - hey, I'm a priest, all right? Bring me along with your group, and I'll heal your injured. Sound good?"

"Yes, you're welcome to - "

"The state of this place! And on holy ground no less!" There's a scoff from the hallway behind Chrom. "Honestly, these wretched bandits! The poor villagers will have a dreadful time after all this."

"Hold that thought," Brady mumbles, and, heart pounding, shoves his way past Chrom.

(Really, he hadn't believed it could ever happen until it did.)

\---

With the Shepherds there, the bandits are quickly disposed of. Leaving Brady with a few awkward conversations to have - though from the sound of it, nobody should be that surprised by him. Hopefully the others are all there.

Maribelle is tending to her horse after the battle. She's a little thinner, her face a little smoother than Brady remembers, and her curls are up in high ribbons instead of pinned neatly back in the elaborate updos that always seemed to be held in place by magic. But it's unmistakably his Ma - the attitude, the tone of voice, the dainty parasol and the unfortunate penchant for eye-searing pink - so, Brady hopes, things will go well.

He lifts one hand in a wave as he approaches her. "Hey, Ma."

Maribelle starts and turns, brow furrowing. "What did you call me?"

Brady holds out his hand. "The name's Brady. I'm - "

Maribelle cuts him off. "I'm sorry, but I only heal physical ailments." She pats his shoulder. "Broken bones and the like. You're clearly a deeply troubled individual whose diseased mind is beyond my healing. Though if you'd truly like assistance, my colleague Libra might be able to - "

Brady rolls his eyes, shoving a hand into the neck of his robes and dragging out the ring hanging there. "Stop talking for a minute and look at this, would ya?"

Maribelle gapes. "The crest of Ylisse...That's...that's Lissa's signet ring!"

"Right. Like I was trying to say, I'm - "

Maribelle draws herself up to her full height, which still barely reaches Brady's shoulder. "A thief! A rapscallion! A common lowborn cutpurse! How dare you sneak in here and steal my darling's prized possessions!"

"Ma! Gawds!" Brady groans. "Stop interruptin' me for one blessed second! Where would I have even stolen this from?"

"I haven't the faintest idea! But any who touches Lissa's things is an enemy regardless! And - "

"Maribelle?" The voice is music to Brady's ears. "Uh...is something wrong?"

"Mom!" Brady calls over his shoulder. "Help me!"

Lissa freezes. "Uh...what was that?"

"This cur has stolen your signet ring!" Maribelle snaps, pointing an accusing finger. "And he seems entirely delusional, besides!"

Lissa's brow furrows. "But, um...how? That ring's back in the castle. How'd he have gotten it?"

"I - hm." Maribelle pauses. "That is...an odd happenstance."

"I didn't steal it!" Brady interjects, trying to take back control of the situation. "Mom gave it to you when you got married, and then I inherited it from you after ya died! I'm you two's son from the future!"

Both women stare at him.

"I mean, er…" Brady rubs his neck. "Don't tell me I'm the first one ya found."

"So...like Lucina?" Lissa asks at last.

"Lucy's here? Thank gods. Yeah, I came with her, but we got separated." Brady clears his throat. "Here I am now, though."

 _"Both_ of our son?" Lissa asks. "Like, me and Maribelle…?"

"Yeah. I mean, er…I guess you guys aren't married yet, but…"

"Come here, come here!" Lissa cuts him off. "Let me see you! Oh my gosh, Maribelle, he has your eyes, look!"

"Alright, alright, I ain't an exhibit," Brady grouses as Lissa rises on tiptoe, peering at him. "But that clear things up any, Ma?"

Maribelle sniffs, recollecting herself and planting her hands on her hips. "Everything save how I managed to raise a common thug!"

"Aw, come on, Ma!" Brady pouts. "That's harsh! Sure, I'm not the prettiest guy around, but I'm no thug, and I _am_ your son! ...And it's good to see you both."

Maribelle stares at him for another long moment.

"Aw, Maribelle," Lissa says, taking her hand. "I know you don't like new people, but he's our kid! We ought to give him the benefit of the doubt, right?"

"Listen to Mom," Brady says quickly. "She's always right."

At last, Maribelle sighs, rubbing her forehead with two fingertips. "...How did I ever permit my child to grow up referring to me as 'Ma?'"

Brady smiles wryly. "You gave up tryin' after a decade or so."

"Well, can you at least ride? Have you read the classics? Do you play violin? Chess?!" Maribelle's voice rises with every exclamation.

"Yeah, all of the above. You beat all'a that junk into me."

"Glory be!" Maribelle gives a great sigh of relief. "My son is salvageable after all!"

"Uh…" Brady squints. "Thanks?"

"Don't look so forlorn, dear." Maribelle steps closer to him and rests a hand on his shoulder. "You've come a long way, but Mother's here now. I'll take care of things from now on."

Brady's been proud of himself for managing not to cry up to that point. But Maribelle is smiling for the first time, and he hasn't seen that smile in years, and he's finally, finally home. 

"Brady?" Lissa peers at him. "You okay?"

"I missed you both so much…" Brady mumbles, feeling his eyes well over.

"Do not even _think_ of crying!" Maribelle snaps. "It does not befit one of your station!" She dabs quickly at her eyes. "Plus, you'll set me off as well…"

"S-sorry, I just...I…" Brady gives up, falling onto her shoulder and burying his face in her shawl. She stiffens for a moment, but reaches up to hug him, and that only makes him cry harder. "Oh, Ma!"

"Oh, Brady!"

Lissa giggles. "You two are perfect for each other. Want a hanky, honey?"

"Do not fluster me further," Maribelle sniffles, stepping back and taking the offered handkerchief. "I was merely overcome."

"We're a whole family now, huh?" Lissa slings an arm over her shoulders and squeezes. "We should celebrate!"

"Uh…" Brady drags his palm over his eyes. "Does this mean I'm, er...the first one?"

"First one?" Lissa's brow furrows. "I told you about Lucina, right? There's her, and Olivia's kid, and Cherche's weird broody son…"

"Oh," Brady says quickly. "Yeah, uh. That's what I meant. Must've slipped my mind. Sorry."

"Come on!" Lissa takes his arm. "I wanna show you off! Plus, you should talk to Lucina and everyone!"

"Right," Brady says. "Everyone." But a hollow, anxious feeling has sprouted in his gut, and it doesn't subside as his mothers lead him away towards the rest of the Shepherds.

He can't let on, though. Better not to tell them there's a second son. After all, if Owain never makes it home, they shouldn't have to mourn somebody they never even met.

\---

"I'm so glad to see you safe, Brady." Lucina has to stand on tiptoe to hug Brady. She's beaming, her face less pale and drawn than he's seen it in a long time. "I hope you weren't waiting long?"

"'Bout a year, I reckon," Brady answers her. "It wasn't so bad. Nice village and all."

"Some of the others have joined us, too," Lucina continues.

"But not Owain."

Lucina's face falls slightly. "No, I...I'm afraid not. But so many miracles have already happened...I cannot help but be selfish and hope for more. To pray that we might all reunite here in the past. Perhaps when we journey back to Ylisse…"

"I'm sure we'll find them all." Brady swallows, trying to keep nerves from claiming him. "After all, they're all characters. Hard to miss, y'know?"

"Exactly." Lucina smiles faintly. "Although I do worry about Owain...he can be such a handful without one of us to look after him."

Brady snorts. "Don't remind me."

"For now, though…" Lucina takes his hand. "Let's enjoy our family, and the sun. Soon...soon, we'll all be together again."

"I know it ain't really them," Brady mumbles. "Not exactly. But it's...it's more than I ever thought I'd have again. I keep thinking I'll...wake up."

Lucina doesn't say anything else, but Brady can tell she understands anyway.

\---

The Shepherds stumble across more and more children as the Ylisse-Valm War comes to an end - far ahead of schedule to when it did in the future, which gives Brady some hope that they really are changing things. Still, even as more and more reunions occur, there is no trace of Owain, and the gnawing fear in his gut can't quite subside.

Weren't they supposed to look after each other? Ma and Mom would roll over in their graves if they knew Brady had managed to misplace him for this long. Owain's a big kid, he can look after himself, but Brady can't help wondering if maybe he really did fall into a volcano. Or he just ran headlong into a dangerous situation and got himself killed, which doesn't sound unlikely.

As they travel west across Valm, preparing to depart the continent and return to Ylisse, the Shepherds reach a village besieged by bandits. Chrom, being Chrom, gives the order to help and intervene, and Brady dutifully takes up his position as a battlefield healer once again. 

"Even in the past, people take advantage of the weak…" Lucina shakes her head as she wipes blood from Falchion's blade, having handily disposed of a good three men with little effort. "It's saddening."

"There's always gonna be nasty bandits," Brady answers as he heals the cut on her arm. "'Least we have the manpower to fight 'em off now, eh?"

"I suppose you're right." Lucina's brow is furrowed, and she's frowning as she looks over the village. "Father and Aunt Lissa mentioned a strange swordsman was defending the village alone, but I haven't caught sight of him. I'm worried that the bandits - "

"The hero arrives!"

The cry echoes between the buildings. Lucina freezes, and she and Brady stare at each other for a moment as it peters out.

"Did ya hear…" Brady says slowly.

Lucina nods, eyes still wide. "Who else could it be?"

Brady doesn't get a chance to answer, because a whirl of yellow dashes through the field in front of them, blade held out from himself as he cleaves through a wave of bandits. "Away, foul fiends! Be vanquished, and know the name of Owain Dark!"

"Owain?" Lucina asks weakly.

"Ah?" Owain turns, and then beams. "Lucina! And - "

"Where have ya _been?"_ Brady bursts out, unable to stop the wave of tears that wells up. "Do you _know_ how worried I was - "

"You sound like Ma."

"Shaddup! You're lucky I don't have a weapon!" Brady glares. "What're you even _doin'_ here? Playing hero?"

"These innocent citizens were being besieged by foul bandits! What was I supposed to do, stand back and - "

"Not charge 'em all alone, dingus!"

"It's nice to see you again, Owain," Lucina says weakly.

"You too, dear cousin! Aw, Brady, come on…"

"If you'd died, I'd've never forgiven you, ya know." Brady sniffles. "Jerk."

"It's great to see you all again!" Owain grins as he stabs another approaching brigand. "Does this mean everyone's met up?"

"With you, we've managed to find quite a few," says Lucina. "We've united with my father and the rest of the Shepherds, as well."

"Mom and Ma, too?" Owain gasps. "By Rigel and Zofia! Where are they?"

"We'll meet up with 'em in time," Brady says. "For now, you're not injured, are ya?"

"Not a scratch!" Owain preens. "For such is the fabled sword skill of Owain Dark, master of - "

"Yeah, yeah, put a sock in it." Brady sighs. "Don't know why I even missed ya."

"Aww, you missed me - "

"If both of you would kindly focus!" Lucina shouts, turning to face another wave of brigands, and so the reunion is cut short.

\---

"So…" Maribelle says slowly. "This is...also our son?"

"Apparently we had two!" Lissa says brightly, dragging Owain towards her. Her eyes are red. "And, Maribelle, Owain has the - "

" - Beloved Ma!" Owain cuts her off, bowing low. "Long have I traveled the stormy seas of time to once more gaze upon your glorious countenance - "

Maribelle's face shifts. _"You_ call me Ma too?"

"Can it, loser, you're overwhelming her," Brady grouses. "Ma, this is my dumb little brother, Owain - "

"Show Maribelle!" Lissa cuts him off. "Your Brand!"

"I see it," Maribelle says weakly. "My, isn't that something?" Her eyes dart to Brady and then back to Owain. "I must say, though, the boy seems a tad uncouth."

"Brady's the uncouth one!" Owain pouts. "Uh, I mean, I merely wish to awe you with my vast knowledge of - "

Maribelle tsks, shaking her head. "Enough of that. It's high time you come along and thanked these nice villagers for helping you, all right?"

"But I was the one who - "

"And they gave you that, er, _lovely_ sword, too!" Maribelle grabs Owain by the sleeve. "Now, this way! We mustn't keep the poor men waiting!"

"All right, all right, Ma, I'm coming." Owain lets himself be dragged off into the village, stooped comically low by Maribelle's grasp on his sleeve.

Lissa shakes her head, staring after them. She's been beaming without pause, tear tracks on her face. "Guess the family's grown, huh?"

"Yeah." Brady rubs the back of his head. "Meet my little brother. Weird as ever."

"He's a funny kid," Lissa says. "Kind of like you. I can't believe he really has the Brand! It still feels like a dream."

"Sorry I didn't tell ya. About Owain, or about his Brand. I was just worried about if he didn't show up, ya know…and I don't have it, so it's not like I had proof."

Lissa's face falls. "Oh, Brady, I didn't - "

"Eh." Brady shrugs. "No big. I get why it's important to ya."

"But I wasn't thinking of your feelings." Lissa shakes her head. "Sorry. I really stuck my foot in it, huh?"

"Nah, you got pretty excited when it happened in the future, too." Brady shrugs. "No big."

"You're every bit as much my son as Owain, okay?" Lissa rests her head on his shoulder. "I know that, and I bet my older self did, too. I don't want you to ever forget it."

"Don't worry," Brady tells her. "I never have. An' I really don't mind. 'Course it's exciting. Now ya know that you're really your dad's - er, well, that, um…"

"You're such a sweet boy," Lissa, who is roughly Brady's own age, tells him, standing on tiptoe to pinch his cheek. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Mom…" Brady sighs. "You gave me this same pep talk when Owain's Brand showed up in the future too, ya know."

"Good to hear I'm consistent!" Lissa says brightly. "But really, honey...it's true."

"I know," Brady assures her. "Really, I do. So don't beat yourself up, okay? I'm good."

Lissa squeezes his hand. "Okay. But you can always come to me if you're not, all right?"

"I will."

"Good. Let's go catch up with your mother and brother before they terrorize those poor villagers any more."

\---

The sunset paints the sky in streaks of pink and orange. From his spot in a tree's shade at the edge of camp, Brady watches it, hungrily, like he can draw sustenance from the light alone. He'd forgotten that the sky could be so many colors. He'll never get used to it. To any of it. 

The Shepherds held a campfire dance last night. A dance! Brady had taken lessons as a kid, of course, but the idea of having a dance in war is just inscrutable to him. The food is barracks slop, but there's _so much_ of it, and sometimes desserts too. Everyone laughs and jokes and sure, some people sleep with knives under their pillows and there's guards posted around the camp most of the time, but nobody really expects to be attacked. The Risen are seen as a danger, but not an overwhelming plague. It's bizarre.

Not that Brady doesn't enjoy it, of course. But he still doesn't feel like he belongs in this future. It's just too bright. He's scared it'll blind him.

"Honored Elder Brother! Is this seat taken?"

"Come to yammer my ear off?" Brady grumbles.

"I know you enjoy my monologues," Owain answers him, plopping down at his side in the grass. "Who doesn't?"

"Everyone."

"Bah! Mere naysayers."

There's quiet as they watch the camp goings-on. Brady can hear Lissa's distinctive laugh, complete with snort.

"They look so damn _happy_ ," Brady says at last. "Were they ever this happy before?"

"Maybe they were, but we were too little to remember it." Owain shrugs, leaning back against the tree. "After all, we were pretty young when Uncle Chrom died. And after that…"

"You don't gotta tell me."

"They were always trying to be strong for us. Now...they don't have to." Owain twirls a blade of grass between his fingers. "It's nice, being able to finally see them like this."

"Were they always so short?"

Owain shrugs. "The pigtails are a little strange."

"Seriously. They're our moms, but they're our age. It's super weird."

"But kind of nice."

"Yeah. I mean, it might not be our versions of them, but it's still them." Brady leans back in the grass. "And I feel like...if anyone can win this war, it's all of us together. Past and future."

"How uncommonly optimistic of you, Brother!"

"Shaddup." Brady slugs his shoulder. "You come over here just to rag on me?"

"No, no." Owain grins. "Just wanted to catch up. I'm glad you made it."

"Glad ya made it, too. But don't make me regret sayin' it."

"Certainly not! The valiant heroism of your younger brother will be naught but an endless source of pride for all who know him - "

"I'm ignoring ya now until ya can talk like a normal person."

"Aw, Brady." Owain stretches. "I was wondering...what are you going to do? If the war ends, and we really win? It's not like we can go back…"

"I wouldn't want to go back," Brady mumbles. "Maybe it's selfish of me, but...there's nothing left there. This world can still be saved. At least here, I can do some good."

"What kind of good?"

"Don't laugh, but…" Brady pauses. "I still got my old fiddle. Maybe I can do something with that. And heal on the side, of course."

Owain grins. "How very Brady."

"And you? Traveling heroism?"

"However did you guess? I wish to see all this world has to offer!" Owain tosses out a dramatic hand. "Our world was little more than a smoking cinder of loss. Presented with this storied, lush landscape...imagine, the tales of my greatness that will be inspired in my wake! The fearsome adventures! The lives I will save! It will be an endeavor truly worthy of my honored blood."

Brady scoffs. "Sounds like a whole lotta work. But I guess that's your thing."

"I'll write, of course. And visit sometimes."

"I wasn't worried."

"Sure, sure. But fear not! For the legendary brotherhood of Owain Dark and Brady of the Moistened Eyes will be written in the annals of history - "

Brady puts a hand on his face and pushes him away. "You're annoying."

Owain only grins, but he does fall quiet, and they watch the sun set together.

\---

The melancholy melody fills the air, warbling off of pillars and climbing high up to the arced ceiling. The audience listens in rapturous silence, not a single eye dry, all turned towards the stage, where a tall tuxedo-clad figure has violin in hand. With one final, echoing note, the song ends, and the room seems to hold its breath, still caught in its spell.

Then the magic breaks, and thunderous applause erupts, several members of the audience leaping to their feet in excitement. The musician bows, and when he straightens, his tears are glimmering in the soft light of chandeliers and sconces.

The ovation goes on for several minutes, and with one slightly awkward wave, the star shuffles backstage, smiling and nodding to the stagehands who step forward with words of praise and relief. He makes his way down the hall and into a small but neat dressing room, setting down his violin with a sigh. His hands are shaking.

No sooner has the door shut behind him then it bursts open again. "That was _amazing!"_

"Hey, Mom," says Brady, turning to face the visitors. "Ma."

Lissa flings her arms around his neck. "That sounded so good, Brady! I knew you were good, but I never knew you were _that_ good! They'll be talking about you as far as Roseanne now!"

"Your performance was indeed splendid," says Maribelle, whose eyes are a little red. "And you handled yourself with elegance befitting of any noble."

"Aw, thanks." Brady rubs the back of his neck. "It wasn't nothin' special, though - "

"Nonsense!" Maribelle huffs, shaking her head. "I won't hear a word of deprecation. That was a fine enough symphony to be heard in the halls of kings, and don't you dare forget it!"

"Jeez, jeez, okay...Thanks, Ma."

"I bet you want a couple moments to yourself, huh?" Lissa pats his arm. "We'll head out and deal with your adoring fans."

Maribelle stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and they both leave. Brady sits down at his dressing table, sniffling even as he smiles faintly to himself.

The door opens again only a moment later, and the person entering is even louder than Lissa. "Legendary Bard of the Moistened Eyes! That was a performance worthy of Elffin himself - "

Brady spins around on his stool. "Owain?"

"How did you know it was me? Merely joking, I know my voice is one difficult to mistake!" Owain is in a slightly rumpled suit, his hair a little longer than Brady remembers it, and he's beaming. "The concert was splendid, Brady! I am honored that I was able to behold it!"

"I didn't think you'd come," Brady sniffles, wiping his eyes on his shirtsleeve.

"Really, you think so little of me?" Owain shakes his head. "How could I not attend my own brother's very first debut performance?"

Brady chuckles wetly as he gets to his feet. "Well, ya haven't been around in awhile. On that glorious quest for your sword hand or whatever."

"Yes, my sworn mission to stay my uncontrollable dark powers! But then, the wind whispered the truth to me in the night! Or, well, Ma sent me a letter." Owain grins sheepishly. "I know not how she found me, but…"

"But Ma," Brady finishes the sentence for him.

"Right. But Ma. Anyway…" Owain rummages behind him, and then whips out a bundle of flowers. "Ta-da! To commemorate this glorious occasion of musical theater!"

"Thanks." Brady accepts them. "Carnations, huh?"

"Er, the first ones I saw. Sadly, the language of flowers is one not spoken by Owain Dark - "

"Right, right, I got ya." Brady adds the bouquet to his pile. "Thanks, Owain. I mean it. It means a lot that you came."

"Heartfelt feelings from he of the scowling mug? Perish the thought - "

"Just take the damn compliment, nerd." Brady slugs his shoulder. "'Sides, this scowling mug just gave a sold-out concert and got a standing ovation. You oughta give it more respect."

"I always knew you had it in you, Brady. You know that, don't you?"

"Sure do. Come on." Brady opens the door. "Let's go see Ma and Mom. We should all celebrate together, right?"

It's night outside, but the air is warm enough to be filled with sun.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Because of Owain's brand, I had to make him Lissa's bio-kid. There's a variety of potential explanations as to how he came about (Maribelle is trans, magical IVF, magical donors, etc) so you can pick whichever one(s) suit you!  
> \- The Brady convo when Chrom recruits him as his dad is Funny and I had to borrow a couple of elements from it for Uncle Chrom.  
> \- Yes, the title is from Annie.  
> \- Thank you for reading!


End file.
